


Les bons comptes font les bons souverains

by Hearii



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: #itsJJstyle, Anal Sex, Face-Sitting, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8666818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hearii/pseuds/Hearii
Summary: The king is generous, but the queen is a tease.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The only thing harder than writing this was... NOT... writing this...  
> Sorry for the pretentious title, I'm a big douchebag.

It’s the Thai kid and his obsession with Instagram that starts all of the superficial drama.

Yuri pays no mind when he first sees the post because it’s a picture he’s seen before. Him on the podium, silver medal regrettably hanging off his fingers. Mila shows it to him on her own phone when it only has a handful of retweets and he scoffs before skating away. He has to practice. He doesn’t have time to denounce whatever bullshit is being written about him by a subpar skater he hardly knows. For the love of god, Yuri doesn’t even follow the kid.

(“Kid? Isn’t he five years older than you?”

“So, what, twenty years younger than you?”

He regrets that comment only by half.)

He should have treasured those days when he only had two nicknames. Two is manageable. Two, when they aren’t coupled to anyone else, is a blessing. The Russian Fairy and the Russian Punk: two very comprehensive, very conflicting aliases that comprised his image as the youngest skater in the senior division.

 _The Queen_ has no business being his third title. Jean-Jacques “The King” Leroy sure as fuck has no business spreading it around. 

* * *

Yuri doesn’t see Leroy again until NKH Trophy and by that point it’s too late to ignore him. Leroy’s sliding across the ice on his knees after coming out of a spin and, in true form, flashes him his iconic hand gesture. Yuri can’t hear him as he skids past, but he can distinctly see the words “ _JJ Style”_ leave his dumbass mouth.

Also in true form, Yuri flashes him both middle figures and stomps into the changing room.

Though Leroy clearly wants to talk, they don’t get the chance before the short program. Yuri doesn’t let him have the chance. He shuns every wave and every look sent his way and instead focuses on anything else, especially in the moments leading up to his program. There’s a loose stitch at the collar of his costume so Yakov mends it; his braid feels loose so he adds another bobby pin; his left foot feels a bit crunched in his skate, so he adds an extra lap to his warm-up to shake it out—

“EH! O’ QUEENIE GO!”

Yuri stumbles on his toe pick and catches himself on the boards. He can hear Leroy roaring with laughter from the bench.

* * *

Yakov expressly forbids Yuri from speaking to Leroy. He didn’t need to, but being told what to do always grated under Yuri’s skin so he follows his nature and gazes at Leroy with the most frigid glower he can muster. He draws his inspiration from the cold, gold medal resting on his palm.

“I knew you’d lose,” he drawls, voice harsh. The medal swings tauntingly, nonchalantly, as if winning was less important than denying Leroy another victory.

Leroy grins up at him but Yuri can see the annoyance threaded around his eyes and taut in his lips. Loudly, he says, “A king’s gotta be generous to his queen, right?”

The victory is less sweet with Leroy’s arm slung around his waist in a show of sportsmanship.

But the stunt gets Yuri in trouble, way more trouble than Yakov could ever promise him. It’s not because of what happened at NHK Trophy, but because the whole “royalty” thing spins out of control. It’s a Summit Series for the new millennium.

People have trouble seeing him as just a skater anymore. He becomes Russia’s dancing symbol of sports vengeance. Reporters ask him about his contact with Leroy. He’s constantly tagged in posts about what Leroy is doing, how he’s training, the charity work he does, the upcoming Olympic clothing line he’s producing. Fans make snippy remarks that turn into heated arguments online. He can’t leave home without hearing at least one person call him “The Queen”. In the west and east, Leroy’s rivalry with Yuri shapes itself into a pissing contest between Russia and Canada.

Yuri keeps his nose well away from that mess. He’s been to Canada before and it’s not like they have much else going for them anyway. 

* * *

The limited communication they had before PyeongChang was all public and mostly on Leroy’s part. But then Leroy started sending him texts and continued to do so even when Yuri didn’t respond. His messages are annoying, trying to egg him into answering, though it never works.

“Viktor!” barks Yuri. “How in God’s name did Jean Jacques Leroy get my number?”

Yuri can almost hear Viktor shrug through the phone.

_‘My little sister made us matching crowns for the Olympics.’_

‘ _I saw the vid of u wiping out doing the triple toe. Better gg for Feb.’_

_‘Finished planning the clothing line for winter! Got a surprise for u.’_

That last message is chilling. Yuri tries not to think about it.

* * *

The surprise Leroy has in mind is actually less surprising than what actually happens the first night he visits Yuri. It’s been barely two days since the opening ceremonies, and they both should still be practicing hard, in theory, for the men’s competitions that are to take place midway through the month. That said Yuri really has no intentions of speaking to Leroy, or letting Leroy into his room, or letting Leroy offer surprises of any sort. But between Yuri’s aggressive criticism and Leroy’s ability to aggressively reject criticism, they somehow end up pressed together with Leroy nearly lifting Yuri off the floor.

“You’re really light, aren’t you?” Leroy comments as his fingers drum over Yuri’s sides, roaming up and down. It tickles unpleasantly, and Yuri tries shifting out from between Leroy’s grip and the wall behind him. “Maybe the sweater is too big…”

“Forget the sweater!” Yuri snaps. His own hands slam on Leroy’s wrists, ripping them away from his hips. “Did you think me inviting you in meant you could manhandle me?”

Leroy’s hands stay up in the air, and he has the nerve to look confused. He doesn’t step out of Yuri’s personal space, and yet _he_ looks offended. Like he can’t imagine being scolded.

Yuri continues to talk while Leroy tries to come up with something to say. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to come up with an answer.” The crease between Leroy’s brows deepens. “It was rhetorical. Of course that’s not why I invited you in.”

Leroy takes a few steps back and Yuri takes the opportunity to slide away. He rubs his hip; the bare sliver of skin between his shirt and his pants where Leroy’s hand rested feels strained, as though the muscles underneath coiled like a spring. Yuri reminds himself to breath and tries to shake off the discomfort by walking across the room.

“Don’t you want to try it on?”

“I can dress myself! Why would I ever need you to do it for me?”

Yuri had his suspicions about Leroy’s intentions since the day he received that first unexpected text; that Leroy’s thoughts about what would happen when they met in Korea were off-target of Yuri’s own expectations. It’s all but confirmed when Yuri turns around and sees Leroy’s eyes dart up, caught red-handed looking Yuri up and down while his back is turned.

“Leroy.”

“Call me JJ!”

“ _Leroy_ ,” growls Yuri. “Are you here to try and fuck me?”

JJ only looks half guilty with his hands spread in front of him, the hoodie he brought dangling from his fingers. “Well, you know the rumours about the Olympic Village…”

* * *

Yuri throws JJ out on his ass. Figuratively, of course, but the older skater knows when it’s time to scatter and Yuri throwing – and breaking – his phone is a pretty clear indicator. So they don’t see each other again until they’re forced to come face to face in the men’s singles short program.

Viktor has made himself somewhat of an honorary coach for the Russian Olympic skating team for PyeongChang 2018. Or rather, the Russian government begged him to do it. No one’s forgotten the miracles he worked with Yuuri Katsuki in Japan except Viktor himself, who seems all too oblivious to the hype his presence brings to the events. So when Yuri’s turn to skate – the second skater in the batch and one of the two most anticipated for the sport – approaches, the Jumbotrons keep rotating between three figures: Yuri, as he taps his skate pick against the rubber mats surrounding the boards; Viktor, as he prompts Yuri with a last-minute inspirational speech; and JJ on the sidelines as watches Yuri prepare for his routine.

It annoys Yuri. He knows how much is riding on his Olympic performance, but that his success is riding on the outcome of JJ’s own abilities grinds against every joint in his body. He hates that everyone knows it. The whole skating world is judging him against one other person.

“This might not have been the way you wanted to do it,” Viktor starts, and it’s a rare instance where his honorary coach is actually able to tell what he’s thinking. “Everyone in Russia is going to be watching to see you win, and half of Canada and the US are watching to see you lose. But your goal isn’t to outperform anyone else, or to prove which countries are better. You’re here to win on your own merits.”

It would have been a perfect way to send Yuri out into the competition if Viktor didn’t slap him on the back and jovially tell him that losing the competition would also mean losing his ticket home.

* * *

It’s a near replica of the NHK Trophy from last year. JJ scores higher than him in the short program, but Yuri bounces right back and snatches gold from under his nose with a marvelous free skate the next day.

“There was no doubt,” Viktor says easily in the doorway of Yuri’s room, a high flush on his cheeks. His arms come up and his whole body swings with the momentum, landing him right into a suffocating hug draped over Yuri’s shoulders. “No one can beat the Russian Fairy! Well, not when it counts. …Well, no, Yuuri has but—”

“Get off me!” Yuri commands, but it feels half-hearted even to him. He can hardly work up the motivation to shove Viktor off, and the reek of alcohol can hardly bother him at this point. “I don’t want to hear about how great that pig is on my victory day.”

It doesn’t do much to dissuade Viktor from dissolving into near-incoherent rambles about his protégé skater – and whether he means Yuri or Yuuri is extremely unclear at this point – so Yuri cuts him off with a prompt door to the face.

He doesn’t slam it. He doesn’t even lock it, his mood is that good. It’s one in the morning and despite all the clamouring and excitement, Yuri doesn’t feel ready to retire for the night. For the week. Hell, he could skate for the next year if he wanted, he’s sure. Winning the Junior Grand Prix didn’t even feel a fraction as rewarding as this does.

That feeling, like seeing the images flash on the Jumbotron, comes with its own annoyance. It doesn’t seem like a far stretch to thank this high on his rivalry with JJ. So maybe that’s why he calls him.

* * *

JJ takes much longer to arrive than Yuri ever would have thought. He should berate himself for thinking that his rival would come running to his rooms in the dead of night after a vague phone call just hours after losing a significant competition by a narrow margin, but he can’t think of a single reason why JJ wouldn’t. If JJ didn’t want to see him, he would have ignored his phone call or outright rejected what he had to say. That’s exactly what Yuri would have done if he lost.

But to think that JJ isn’t a sore loser because he actually humoured Yuri’s command would be wrong. It’s the exact opposite, actually, because JJ takes the invitation as a newly revived, more personal challenge.

 _Maybe he was showering_. JJ’s hair feels a little damp between Yuri’s fingers as yanks and drags JJ’s mouth to his own. It’s fresh—like he’s just brushed his teeth and Yuri is convinced JJ took so long just to groom himself.

They stumble around the room blindly, JJ’s feet following Yuri’s as they wind through the complex. It’s a compromise between pressing flush against each other and trying to find a place to settle. JJ’s hands settle on Yuri’s hips and he feels the uncomfortable tautness of his muscles winding under the hard-pressing fingertips again. Except now the feeling isn’t uncomfortable, and Yuri’s back arches impulsively, his hips tilted back.

The hands creep under Yuri’s shirt, the soft rolls of his thumbs across his skin fighting with the sharp sting of JJ biting his lip. There’s a predatory gleam in his eyes behind the arrogant smile he wears and Yuri’s about to snap at him, but JJ hoists him up against the wall behind him and ravishes his neck. The complaint strangles in Yuri’s throat.

“Sorry, what was that?” JJ asks against his collarbone, his hands clamping Yuri’s thighs around his waist. Yuri can’t answer – JJ’s tongue jams back into Yuri’s mouth the moment it opens.

JJ yelps when Yuri bites him. Then he nearly drops him.

“What did I tell you about manhandling me in my own room?” Yuri growls. His hand is still entwined in JJ’s hair and pulls a bit harder than necessary.

JJ’s cocky smile slips off his face. “Isn’t that…?” He looks baffled. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted to rub my win in your face.” Yuri’s free hand lifts his medal by the ribbon, showing it off like he’s standing on a podium instead of straddling JJ’s hips. “What makes you think I want to be fucked against a wall?”

“Well,” JJ starts. There’s the fleeting feeling of a hard press as JJ rocks his hips forward, pressing Yuri higher against the wall. Yuri’s hand slides from JJ’s hair to his shoulder and he has to look down to catch the focused look in his eyes. “You’re half hard, aren’t you?”

“So?” Yuri bites back. His shoulder blades drag back, shimmying down the wall as he straightens himself out. Yuri’s thighs momentarily tighten around JJ’s hips as he rocks his own hips down, slow, controlled, but he does nothing to hide his annoyance.

Thankfully, JJ takes the hint and lets Yuri down to his feet. Yuri is slimmer, shorter, and smaller, but finds it easy to drag JJ to the bed with a firm hand on his wrist.

* * *

If anything, JJ is a fast learner. He’s intuitive, resourceful, and knows how to use his mouth ways that would make Yuri sick. But Yuri doesn’t mind so much now as he grinds his hips down, indulging in the feel of JJ’s tongue dragging across his skin. JJ’s hands rest on Yuri’s ass to hold him steady, and he doesn’t look too bothered by Yuri’s hands running over his chest either.

Yuri is determined to not let JJ know just how affected he is by the fingers kneading his skin or the tongue rolling across his inner thighs, the base of his shaft, his asshole. He holds his breath, bites his lip, and does whatever he can to stop the shifts in his breath. But Yuri’s body acts on a different plane than his mind and it speaks volumes on its own. He’s flushed in the face, he’s hard, and his muscles twitch when JJ grabs him by the hips and demands he sit down completely.

“Idiot,” Yuri growls, twisting to look down and over his shoulder at the crown of JJ’s head. “It’s disgusting how much you like this.” But he complies and grinds down, a dizzying flash burning through him when he feels JJ tense then relax. Yuri faces forward again, eyeing the tent in JJ’s pants with a mix of curiosity and revulsion. “Did that make you harder?”

JJ’s hum is agreeing and distracted. From his position with each knee straddling the other man’s chest, Yuri can feel JJ’s pectorals shift and flex as his hands work through the motions. Yuri can see JJ’s own hips rocking up slightly, rhythmically, against the air with the pattern and his heels press into the duvet. It’s as if JJ can make anything a full-bodied experience, even lying complacently under another person. Yuri snaps the waistband of JJ’s track pants impatiently.

As it turns out, once the pants are removed and they’re equally unclothed, JJ didn’t even have the decency to wear underwear. Yuri feels a startling mixture of nausea in his stomach and smugness in his chest just by knowing he wasn’t the only one to expect that this is how the night would end. Yuri ignores the third feeling that rolls heavy through his hips when he sees JJ’s cock twitch against his abdomen.

“You make your own clothes, but can’t even be bothered to wear them,” Yuri sneers as his hands walk their way down JJ’s chest, bending at the waist. He nestles an elbow into the crook where JJ’s thigh meets his pelvis. He looks the very epitome of languid with his cheek propped on his palm and his back uncoiled and relaxed despite hovering just inches above another man’s dick. Yuri can tell he’s pushing his luck by the way the fingers dig into his skin, the threat to flip their positions materializing between them.

Yuri circumvents the issue with relative ease – the wayward bottle of lube forgotten at the end of the bed is within arm’s reach and JJ’s cock responds to the cap being flipped in a way that is absolutely Pavlovian.

The lube is tossed aside carelessly once a generous amount is slathered across JJ’s shaft and pelvis. Yuri’s free hand starts to rub it in, the motions just as nonchalant as the rest of him. Like he really could care less about putting in any effort, no matter how hard JJ works for it. And JJ _is_ working for it by the way Yuri can hear him panting and feel his tongue work itself in frantic circles.

The low thrum in Yuri’s hips returns and he starts resisting against the hands holding him steady. They’ve both synchronized to the pace now. Yuri’s hips roll to the rhythm of the tongue moving inside him; JJ pushes up each time his cock is pumped, each time Yuri’s wrist flicks down, just barely pressing the tip against the lips ghosting hot, teasing breathes across his skin…

“As if,” Yuri scoffs and sits up unexpectedly. His clean fingers flick the head of JJ’s cock lightly but it’s still enough to make the man startle. “Why would I suck you off? You’re a perv _and_ a loser.”

Yuri is unceremoniously heaved off his knees and lands face first, somewhere between JJ’s legs. There’s only so much taunting a king can endure and it ends with being reminded of his significant failures.

JJ’s fingers do what his tongue can’t. They can press harder, dig deeper, and angle in ways that make Yuri gasp uselessly into the duvet. By the time Yuri orients himself just enough to prop himself on his forearms, JJ is fingering him so vigorously that speaking becomes impossible between the aborted moans catching in his throat.

He can hear the grin in JJ’s tone as Yuri’s hips cant back, the pressure in his abdomen stringing him taut. “You like that,” he says. “I’m good, aren’t I?” There’s an unabashed, licentious tilt to his voice that makes Yuri press himself more firmly on the bed. JJ’s cock slides between the cleft of his ass, above the fingers working Yuri into a desperate frenzy. The coiling heat is a burn that flushes from Yuri’s stomach to his thighs and he shakes with the effort to push it away.

“Are you going to come?” JJ asks, and Yuri wishes he would shut up. JJ’s free fingers hook behind the loop that connects the two braids away from Yuri’s face, gently tilting his head back. His expression is voracious. “I want to fuck you while you do.”

The tightness in Yuri’s stomach jams violently up his esophagus when JJ’s cock pushes into him then returns twofold throughout his whole body. Everything in him clenches hard – his toes and fingers flex into the bed, his head strains away from the loose grip in his hair. JJ’s fist is on his shaft now and flicks up and down at the same pounding pace that he uses to send Yuri’s body into sudden spasms as he comes.

Yuri tries to catch his breath, but JJ is relentless and every thrust sends another breathless shudder through his chest. Now JJ’s groaning too, louder than Yuri would ever appreciate, and the hand in his hair tightens to the point where the braids start to fray and unravel. Yuri’s spent and feels like he’s suffocating even before JJ leans down and shoves his tongue halfway down his throat.

Yuri would like to think that JJ pulling out before he comes is the best thing he could have hoped for, but having any of JJ’s semen near him is regrettable no matter the circumstance.

* * *

“Put this on,” JJ says, pushing a sweater into Yuri’s hands when he finishes mopping the mess off his back. “You owe me that much.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” Yuri grumbles and looks at the hoodie with distaste. It’s the surprise JJ tried to give him at the beginning of the Olympics, the one that looks nearly like the tiger hoodie he’d bought in Japan two years ago. The primary difference is that this tiger is white and a glittering art deco tiara hovers inches above its head. He guesses it’s a jab at his ‘Queen’ title. “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this.”

“Well, I’ll still let you keep it. My shop is nearly sold out of them already.”

JJ barely has time to struggle into his pants and grab his shirt before Yuri, with a sense of déjà vu, shoves him out of his room. He’s laughing for some reason, and Yuri can hear a muffled proclamation about “JJ Style” through the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the scene where JJ flashes his gang signs at Yuri and Yuri gives him both fingers goes to some picture I saw on /a/.


End file.
